Adapting
by Whoa-em-gee bro
Summary: Everyone's scared of something..


Adaptation is something that August Anderson had always been intrigued by. It started when he was eleven after his dog had been hit by a car. The veterinarian had amputated its leg, and yet the dog lived its life just fine. He always wondered how that could be possible. Auggie remembered thinking that there was no way he could lose a leg and run around like that dog did.

Yes, Auggie had always been intrigued by the natural ability to adapt. That is until a cruel twist of fate forced him to learn about it firsthand. Then adaptation seemed to be a bigger bitch them karma herself.

For a long time after the accident, Auggie couldn't help but look at the sick irony of it all: the sick irony of_ him_ being _blind_. Out of all of his senses, it just had to be his sight. Of course..

It couldn't have been his taste and smell. That would've been far too easy. At the time, taste and smell seemed like the most useless senses he had. God forbid he couldn't taste the power bars he practically survived on. And wouldn't a lack of smell come in handy sometimes? I mean public restrooms didn't exactly smell like roses.

It wasn't his sense of feeling, and for that, he guessed he was thankful. However being thankful for anything immediately after the accident wasn't something he was capable of. Auggie distinctly remembers wishing that the IED would have just killed him. It was overly dramatic and a stupid thing to want he knows, but he does remember wishing death upon himself. He knows that the bomb could have done a lot more damage than it did, and losing his sight was very minor compared to what could've happened.

It wasn't the ability to hear that was taken from him. He was far too prepared for God or the Universe or whoever was running the show to take that from him. Part of his trade craft was his ability to read lips. Also, he knew some sign. His cousin had been born deaf so everyone in the family had tried learning. Auggie wasn't fluent, but he could be with some work. Before the accident, he didn't even listen to much music. He would've been perfectly content with being deaf. Stupid bomb had to be so damn bright. Was a traumatic brain injury so much to ask for? Auggie knows that after the accident, no matter what the result had been, he would've been mad at the world. It was just how he was; it was his defense mechanism of choice.

But really? His sight? He needed that to get around. He needed that to read. He needed that for freaking everything! Everything he had ever done relied on his sight. With the Agency, everything was based on being able to see. He needed to observe a person's face to read them. He needed to study a computer screen to break an encryption code. He needed to recognize an asset in order to tail them. He needed to_ see_!

And, to top it all off, he was a God damn visual learner!

But none of that mattered when it was all said and done. He had to adapt. He_ had_ to. The CIA coordinated him with an O&M instructor. Auggie began taking lessons on reading braille. After a year or so, he could navigate as easily as a sighted person and could read without a problem. He learned to operate the Agency issued devices for the blind. Soon he was sitting across from a polygraphist getting reinstated after Joan Campbell re-hired him as head of Tech Ops.

However there was something he would never be able to adjust to. Something he'd lived with for as long as he could remember. Something he knew he'd have to continue living with for the rest of his life. No matter how hard he tried, and lord he did try, it was never going anywhere ever again. It left him with sleepless nights and restless slumbers. It left him squeezing his eyes shut pointlessly, because somehow that made it slightly better. It was always worse when he was alone, for some unknown reason. And right now, he was very alone. It was the reason he was sitting on the bathroom floor hitting his head on the wall, thinking about how pathetic he was, but really not caring at the same time. It was the reason he was asking why it had to be his sight of all possible things.

It was called myctophobia: the fear of darkness.

**I feel really stupid.. This is like my fourth try on uploading this.. yeah. Oh and I learned I can't write endings very well. Hope it was okay, thanks for reading.**


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